what if, in the “end”
which, a lying poet wrote
is the “beginning”
masses: monument
when the student asked
“is there a self?” the teacher
refused to answer
masses: the cosmic egg
children chase chickens
there, in the coruscating
egg, while, here, we sit
masses: eroded grid
the other breathing
over the sentient skin
erases borders
masses: encore
after his heart, with
attentive ministrations
started up again
masses: the last swim
floating in the red
of the setting sun, the waves
lapping over him
masses: grace
the children slide down
the channels of turquoise grace
fly over the edge
masses: eurydice
orpheus sings of
heaven as he flees from hell
he glances back and
masses: happy birthday
fire-fangled tangling
of you sleeping beyond sense
in the blue distance
masses: stuff
all the worlds gather
in clouds, darken into storms
and rain down into
